Safeword
by dkLindon
Summary: He stands over his lover's prone form, relishing the twitching and writhing, the blood and tears that leak from azure eyes. As he dips a finger into the blood that pools at his feet, Goten wonders: is it supposed to be this way? *Truten, yaoi, VERY dark*


Warnings: Yaoi, extreme violence, BDSM and abuse.

**Safeword**

My lover is smaller than me, now. He's always had a leaner build – all tight and corded muscles over small bones and a narrow frame – but for so long, he was taller. He's a year older than I am, after all. But no longer—I am taller than he is.

Not that his height matters. Not when he kneels at my feet like this.

His arms are tied behind his back, wrapped with heavy knotted rope from wrist to elbow, and his ankles are shacked together. That precious collar is around his neck, all black leather save for a metal piece in the back—a marvel of science, that. The device that prevents him from gathering his potentially massive _ki_ and escaping.

Not that he _wants_ to escape.

He is almost perfect, like this. Bound and naked. Helpless. _Almost_ docile. But his head is still raised. His eyes are still proud, his chin still up.

I stalk up to him. I bend at the waist until our eyes are at the same level. I reach over to slide one hand under his chin, tilting his face from left to right, examining his features. His delicate, _regal_ features. A few strands of his soft, fine hair fall into his eyes with casual elegance. Is he really nineteen? He looks so much younger.

He doesn't even realize how stunning he truly is.

* * *

_It started off innocently enough._

_They were best friends, they'd known each other since before memory could take them. They had fought together, learned together, played together. They had fused bodies, minds and souls, been one person. They had done everything together._

_They had even died together._

_It should not have come as a surprise, then, when they first kissed. Back then, it was Trunks who took the lead. Trunks was fourteen, and Goten a tender thirteen, when it all started. Both boys were exhausted from a day of training and sparring, and their bodies were dripping with sweat and dirt and a few drops of spilled blood._

_Their blood ran just a shade darker than that of humans._

_It was Trunks' idea, of course. Trunks was the one who pulled Goten aside, dragging the younger half-Saiyan into his room. _

_"Trunks," Goten complained good-naturedly. "I'm gross, I have to take a shower."_

_"You're not gross, Chibi." Trunks gave him a small smile. "You're never gross." Before Goten knew what was happening, he was pressed against the bedroom wall, smudging mud and grime along the white-painted plaster._

_Without further warning, Trunks leaned in, pressing his mouth to Goten's. The older boy's lips were so warm, and once he got over the initial shock, Goten found he rather liked it._

_He would never forget how sweet that warm tongue tasted in his young, supple mouth. He would never forget that, here, in the bedroom of another barely-teenaged boy, was where it had all started._

_

* * *

_

His eyes. They're bright blue. _Bright_. They're still so conscious, so brilliant. So in-control.

His eyes are dry.

I should fix that.

I walk around behind him, smacking the high-quality leather handle into my palm. He is still as a statue, and the whole room smells of rawhide and desire. His breathing is even and steady. Measured. He does not flinch from the sound of the slapping leather, though he knows what is coming. Years of experience have taught him _exactly_ what is coming

I step back a few feet, my eyes raking over his naked frame. His skin is not flawless. It is marred, blemished by lines upon lines of scars, snaking around and beneath still-fading bruises. Marks that I have placed there.

They will soon be joined by more.

I swing down, brutally, issuing a perfectly executed single tail strike. It lands with a loud _clap_, and though he does not cry out, he winces and gasps. I could never accuse my love of being weak.

I do not hold back. I don't need to. While such ferocious strikes would kill any normal, _human_ being, my lover is far from human. And though the collar prevents him from concentrating his energy and gathering his strength, his stamina and resilience are unaltered. It is such a delicate balance—he is still so strong, but helpless.

I crack the whip with all my might. Lash after lash comes, with increasing force and frequency, drawing blood the leaks from his back and shoulders, down his fine and rounded ass and eventually spilling to the floor.

I continue to beat him, breaking open skin along his back and arms, then move to the side so I can strike along his chest as well. Soon, his defined pectorals and rigid abdomen are all sliced open, and each narrow wound expands and contracts with his shaky breaths. I even bring my whip down to his thighs, delighting in his wheezing pants as I just barely miss striking his sensitive genitals.

So he bleeds. He bleeds only for me.

* * *

_Fourteen was not too young._

_That was what Goten kept telling himself. Fourteen was not too young to be taken and used, to give and receive carnal pleasure. To act on a desire he had harbored all his life, yet had only admitted to recently._

_Fourteen, thought Goten, was not too young to lose one's virginity._

_He whined, crying out in a terrible and wonderful mixture of pleasure and pain as Trunks thrust into him, impaling him. The young prince was considerate enough, and did not leave Goten's own hardened and aching member unattended. He pumped Goten's shaft in rhythm with his own thrusts, conducting an unholy chorus of moans and gasps and cries, blending and harmonizing with the sound of wet and slapping flesh._

_With a rolling clap of thunder came release. Orgasm. Trunks and Goten came simultaneously, and their cries were barely contained within Trunks' soundproofed bedroom. _

_They lay together for several minutes, Trunks still atop Goten's panting body, before the older boy finally pulled out. Slowly, cautiously, they curled up with one another, their fluids melding and merging upon the lilac-haired heir's bedsheets. _

_They both remained in the bed, resting. Recovering. Enjoying the marvelous afterglow that could only be the result of total intimacy. Several minutes later, when their strength had returned and their heart rates had again achieved normalcy, Trunks pulled away._

_Goten whimpered, his arms lamenting the loss of the warm body that lay there. Trunks gave Goten a wicked grin before flipping onto his own hands and knees, raising his smooth, naked ass into the air._

_"Your turn, Chibi."_

_It would be the first time Goten had ever dominated another man. It would certainly not be the last._

_

* * *

_

Finally, he's crying. He isn't sobbing, and his nose isn't running. He's just weeping, tears silently flowing down his face, cutting paths through the streaks of red I have placed there.

I set down the stained whip on the floor, just out of his sight. I'm going to need a new whip; this is the first time I've used it, but the leather has already become worn and frayed. An unavoidable side effect of my own strength and his stamina.

I approach him, and kneel behind the slightly shuddering figure, leaning in to lap up a few droplets of the crimson essence that pours from his body. He hisses and gasps at the feeling of my tongue upon his wounds, and releases an almost-terrified whimper as teeth scrape along the torn and exposed skin. I drag a finger along the dozens of lacerations I have either created or reopened, and he twitches as the salt from my sweaty hands burns through his body.

I continue his exquisite torment for several minutes, each touch and lick and brush and from my central incisors eliciting another gasp or cry. He twitches in place, writhes, and his pants become ever more pained and wretched.

My love tastes of copper and roses. Of lust. Of desire.

His suffering is so beautiful.

* * *

_Goten was hesitant, of course, but Trunks insisted._

_It was just a blindfold, Trunks said. It was just a blindfold and a little bit of force, just enough to keep their encounters interesting. The young prince gave the other boy constant reassurance that no, no Chibi, you aren't hurting me, you aren't scaring me, it's okay, it's fun._

_And it was. It _was_ fun. More fun than Goten would have liked to admit to._

_

* * *

_

I press the button near the bottom of the metal toy. It begins to hum and vibrate, and within seconds I have slid it into my lover's prone body.

He begins to writhe. He moans as his hips buck, helplessly, craving release.

Craving _me._

_

* * *

_

_"I'm not so sure about this," Goten mumbled, gingerly holding the collar in his hands. They had gotten a bit rough in the past, yes, but this was taking their relationship to a whole new level. Trunks wasn't just talking about blindfolds and a few bruises here. He was talking about whips and chains, bondage and complete domination. _

_"It'll be _fine_, Goten. It just keeps me from gathering my strength, it doesn't make me more fragile." The purple-haired youth grinned. "Trust me, I can take anything you can dish out."_

_Goten was not convinced. "But what if I really hurt you?"_

_"That's what a safeword is for," Trunks replied authoritatively. _

_"Safeword?"_

_"Something innocuous that the sub says if it gets to be too much. I say it, you know to stop. That simple."_

_But as Goten sensed Trunks usually massive ki fade, and as he strapped his lover to the bed with those cold and rattling chains, he began to suspect that this would be anything but simple._

_

* * *

_

I stand over my lover's prone form, savoring the twitching and writhing of that toned and defined body, the blood and tears that leak from azure eyes. He is shaking ever so slightly, but is trying not to show it. So brave.

I dip one finger into the blood that pools at my feet. Though part of me wonders if this is natural, if this is the way it's _supposed_ to be, the greater part of me cannot bring itself to care. I place my finger in his mouth, forcing him to lap up his own blood. He does so without hesitation.

The feeling of his tongue running along my fingertips is _almost_ enough to make me lose all control. Almost.

* * *

_"But were that hope of pride and power/ Now offer'd with the pain/ Even then I felt -- that brightest hour/ I would not live again."_

_"What's that?" Goten asked, peering over Trunks' shoulder to the paper there. Trunks was sitting at the kitchen table, his back to the doorway, and Goten had quietly come up and stood behind him._

_"Just a poem," Trunks said, craning his neck to face his lover. _

_Of course Trunks was reading poetry. He was refined. Regal. A prince, in both the literal and figurative sense. It was Trunks, after all, that taught Goten to sit silently through his meals, to eat with forks and knives rather than fingers and hands. It was Trunks, shining, polished Trunks, that shined and polished Goten._

_"What about?" Goten asked, quite innocently, as he placed a hand on Trunks shoulder. Goten could feel the tension there melt away at his touch, as the tightly wound muscles of Trunks' back and upper arms relaxed._

_"Oh, death would be my guess," Trunks said, shrugging and returning his gaze to the slip of paper on the table. The young prince tilted his heat so his soft cheek could rest on the hand that lay upon his shoulder. "Though it could be about any number of things. The nexus of pain and pleasure. An exchange of power." Trunks smiled wickedly. "Kind of reminds me of _you_, Chibi."_

_Goten grinned. He ran the index finger of his free hand along the back of Trunks neck, brushing the short, silken hairs there. His smile widened as he saw the pleasurable little shudder he elicited from Trunks._

_"Sounds like an invitation to me."_

_Trunks stood, looking Goten in the eyes. "Do you _want_ it to be?"_

_Goten grasped his lover's hands and pulled him away from the kitchen, leading him to the bedroom. Did Trunks really need to ask?_

_

* * *

_

I slide into him, roughly. I don't prepare him. I don't use lubricant. His own blood, after all, will do the job quite nicely.

I grasp his shoulders, twisting his arms awkwardly to the side behind his back. Over and over I pound into him, and my hips start to burn with the effort. In and out and in and out I go, letting his slender body envelop me. Forcing him to take every inch, pushing him to and past his self-imposed limits. I can actually feel his skin tear, can feel it rip and shred and leak blood onto my own organ and legs.

Years of this abuse, and he's still so tight.

His muscles clench and tighten around me, making this all the more irresistible. It feels _incredible_, all heat and pressure, and it's all I can do to pull back, to force myself not to come too quickly and spoil our fun. I slide out all the way, pausing for an instant before viciously pushing myself back into him, burying myself all the way to the hilt.

He screams. I thrust.

* * *

_"That was fun, Chibi." Trunks gingerly rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had come off. He had bled, yes, and tears did streak his face, but he was smiling now. Satisfied. Cheerful, even._

_Chibi. After all this time, Trunks still called Goten "Chibi."_

_As Goten undid the bonds that still held Trunks fine, tanned ankles to the bedpost, it hit him. It should have been obvious, really, but Goten had managed not to realize it. _Trunks_ was in control. _Trunks_ was calling the shots. Despite the fact that Goten was the one wielding the whips and chains, and Goten was the one forcing himself upon his lover's bound and helpless body, _Trunks_ was truly the one with the power._

_Because his submission, no matter how complete, was a gift. One that Trunks was free to give. One that he was free to take away._

_So although Trunks was the one who was chained, Goten was the real prisoner._

_And he was addicted._

_

* * *

_

Blood is rushing through my ears as my heartbeat pounds. I can hear nothing, nothing but my own grunts and moans of pleasure, and someone, something shrieking in the background.

I don't think it's ever been this intense. I feel like a man possessed, and every thrust comes more harsh and brutal. More wild.

What is that shrieking?

* * *

_Trunks may have wanted it. But Goten _needed_ it._

_The younger demi-Saiyan ran a finger along the leather restraints that had just been used to hold his lover's body in place. They would have to be replaced soon. They were stained with blood and semen, and were becoming frayed at the edges, thanks to Trunks' furious writhing and struggling. _

_He caressed the collar, the same one that made their "scenes" possible. Unlike the whips and restraints and all the "toys" they had used, the collar was still in perfect condition. They hadn't needed to get it replaced._

_The collar was such superbly tanned leather. It was smooth and thick and supple. Just like Trunks' skin had once been, before he had unleashed Goten upon it._

_Their sessions were getting ever rougher. Trunks didn't complain—in fact, he seemed to enjoy it. But it was different for Goten. The raven-haired youth was finding it more and more difficult to separate sexual pleasure from his more furious, violent impulses. When he was finally honest with himself, Goten came to realize that he needed the blood, the pain, the wounded tears that streamed down his lover's tanned cheeks. Only when Trunks was chained and shrieking through his gag could Goten find satisfaction, fulfillment._

_What was Trunks turning him into?_

_

* * *

_

_Red._

His blood drips lovely streams from his temple, along his aristocratic jawline and down his slender neck.

_Red. _

My vision is blurred and hazy. All my senses are afire, muddled and mixed. I taste his pain, I feel his yells, I smell the rough chafing of the rope sliding along his flesh—

"Red!"

What?

"Red!"

Is that his voice?

"Oh, _god_, red!"

I freeze in place. I can hear it now, and everything becomes clear.

His breath is hitching. He's letting out sobs. Not those dignified tears he let flow before, but real sobbing. Aching. Desperate. Powerless.

"Go...Goten..." he chokes out, sounding so small. He's scared. And he's crying.

It's finally happened. Trunks is calling out the safeword. "Red." In the years we've been together, he has never _once_ used it.

_He wants me to stop._

I pull out of him and slowly stand. The haze clears from my eyes, and I can finally take in his full visage.

He is trembling. His lips are swollen from the violent, bruising kisses I have forced upon him. He is lying on his side, and he soon curls up, pressing his knees against his chest despite the fact that his arms are still awkwardly tied behind his back. His shoulder sits out of place, and I wonder if I have dislocated it. Blood runs in crimson rivers down his neck, chest and back, gathering in a small sea around his exposed and defenseless form.

_He wants me to stop._

The terror is real, now. The game has ended. We've crossed the line. He is so afraid. Tortured.

By my hand, he is tortured.

And I _love_ it.

I walk back over to him. I grab him by the nape of his neck and roughly lift him, forcing him to stand. He lets out a small gasp; it seems my little prince wasn't expecting this harsh treatment.

"Goten?" His voice is so strained, so shocked and hurt and helpless. And it's making me wilder than I've ever been.

I smile, making sure the expression is gentle and warm. For just a moment, relief floods those bruised and bloody and delicate features on my love's face. I relax the grip on his neck so that it is more of a caress and lean in, pressing my lips gingerly to his. He collapses into the kiss, drinking of me. I smile against his bleeding lips before I pull back.

He looks me in the eyes. He's so, so relieved. He lets out a soft, shuddering breath, and I allow him to tenderly rest his head upon my shoulder. I can tell that he is going weak at the knees.

_Perfect._

Without warning, I turn him around and slam him into the wall. He gasps, and in half an instant the shock and terror is back.

"Goten?" he whimpers, sounding more vulnerable than I have ever heard him. Because it's a new game we're playing now, one with _my_ rules.

At last, I am the one in control.

* * *

_Goten stood, wringing his hands, pacing back and forth. Fanatical._

_Trunks had left hours ago, yet the unsettled feeling in the pit of Goten's stomach had not faded in the slightest. He knew, this was no longer about power play and erotica. This was about control. Real, full control. The fact was, it didn't matter how hard Goten hit Trunks, how deeply he took him, how horribly he humiliated the prince. Trunks remained the one in control. Trunks remained the one in power._

_And Goten was losing it._

_The ebony-haired demi-Saiyan slammed his fist into the wall, cracking it despite his conscious hold over his own strength. He struggled to get his erratic breaths under control, to settle his volatile quaking. Trunks had created such a need in Goten, one that was impossible to fulfill. He needed to own Trunks, to hurt him. To break him._

_The truth was inescapable. Trunks was driving him mad._

_

* * *

_

I drive into him. More brutally than before, if it's possible. I press the right side of his face into the wall with one hand and roughly grasp a defined hip with the other. I violently enter his tight, hot, incredibly sensitive hole, as he smears blood and tears along the once pristine paint of the bedroom wall.

I drink it all in. His terror. His cries. His sexy, helpless whimpers and pleas for me to stop. His all-consuming agony blends with my all-encompassing pleasure, and I feel the two melt and merge into one entity as I continue to ravage his slim body. For his pain, it _is_ my pleasure.

I'm hooked. And, Great Kami help me, I hope I never break this addiction.

* * *

_"Do you remember how that poem ends?"_

_"What poem?"_

_"You know. The one about pride and power, now offered with the pain."_

_"Oh. Oh, yes. I think so." Trunks closed his eyes, trying to recall the ancient scripted words from memory. "For on its wing was dark alloy,/ And, as it flutter'd- fell/ An essence- powerful to destroy/ A soul that knew it well."_

_"So what does that mean?" Goten asked, quirked one ebony eyebrow._

_Trunks shrugged as best he could, his muscles sore as they were. "Again, could just be about death." He carefully massaged his ankles where they had been bound, restoring blood circulation to the aching appendages. "But it could also be about domination and submission in general."_

_"How so?"_

_"Well," Trunks responded thoughtfully. "An essence powerful enough to destroy a soul that knew it well? Sounds to me like, in the end, something's gotta give."_

_Goten nodded, finally understanding. "One of them must break."_

_

* * *

_

He's crying again. His tears glitter, but not like before. They're so much more desperate. So much more satisfying.

He is on his knees on the floor once again, much as he was when the night began. But though his position bears some superficial similarity to the way it was hours ago, we both know that everything has changed. His posture reflects that change. His head is bowed, his shoulders slumped. His pride is gone, as is his defiance, replaced with the grieving and devoted submission that only uncontrolled pain can bring about.

He's _breathtaking_.

I lift his bowed head by the chain attached to his collar. I kiss him, tentatively, gently, relishing the sensation of his lips trembling beneath mine. He mewls against my mouth, his lips parted ever so slightly.

I press my lips to his closed eyelids, just barely brushing against his dampened violet lashes. I take a moment to indulge, and my tongue darts out, tasting his horror-fraught tears.

Though I speak softly, my voice reverberates throughout the room. "Mine."

He lets out a pitiful whimper, and his eyes remain closed, but he nods.

Without further ceremony, I lift his unresisting frame and move him back to the bed. I glance at him, commanding him to calm himself, and without question his breathing slows. I smile as I place his head upon the full down pillows. Soft strands of violet hair fan out, almost like a halo. The fine trickle of blood and semen that was running out his ass and down his thighs mixes upon the silken sheets.

"Love," I say, and he opens his red-rimmed eyes. He's obviously exhausted, but rest will not yet come.

I grin. I know my canines are flashing in the dim light, and I force his legs apart once more as I climb onto the bed. I brush my fingers along his inner thighs, moving toward his scrotum with cruel and tantalizing slowness. I have him, I fucking _own_ him, and I am going to use him as I see fit. I shall bring him pleasure against his will. I shall bring _myself_ pleasure with his quivering, servile body.

He is obedient. He is pliant. He is helpless.

And he is _mine_.

* * *

_Goten's words still echoed through the room._

_"One of them must break."_

_

* * *

_

I pull out of him, my sated member making a wet sliding sound as it slips out of his torn orifice. He does not make a sound. He passed out several minutes ago; his mind just couldn't take the strain, I suppose.

_Oh well_, I reason. There will be plenty of chances to get this right in the future. To make sure he feels every touch, that he embraces every moment of his delightful torment. I remove his bonds, unhook the chain from his collar, but I keep the collar itself in place. No longer will my love be in control of his own strength. No more will Trunks be the master of his own fate.

Our old game has ended. I am almost sad about the loss.

But, as I kiss his unmoving lips and take in his quiet and shallow breaths, I think I'm going to enjoy this new game.


End file.
